


You Saved Me

by margaerytyrell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Not Canon Compliant, Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaerytyrell/pseuds/margaerytyrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They always suspected the little queen of taking her lovers with extra sugar and a cup of tea, but Margaery Tyrell took lovers and loved only one, in the end of it all. Sansa Stark swore never again to be a dreamer, but she dreamed of a little rose to save her from a den of lions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Saved Me

It’s hard to tell long stories in a place like this. In a place where a minstrel’s tongue is cut before his song is done. It’s difficult to comprehend that, after so many tales have been burned before they’re told, one can be real. It was more than she had hoped for and, while it was brief, a rose was better than any lion.

Margaery was gentle. Margaery was kind. Margaery was, surprisingly, loyal. She was like the songs and she made Sansa sing.

Her lips were petals and her hair was woven of softened bronze, lit with all the lights of the sun. She grew from the cracked, parched ground of King’s Landing like some kind of miracle.

She met her over lemon cakes with nothing but sweet, crisp air and laughter and smiles.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Sansa,” Margaery smiles, taking her hand. They walk through the gardened and trimmed walkways of the courtyard. Margaery’s long, blue dress sweeps behind her, detailed with gold and folded softly over her trim waist.

Sansa wishes for a moment that she had her mother by her side to help her be so beautiful. She wishes she had a mother to braid her hair and help her sew her dresses. Maybe she would shine like the sun then, too. Still, she smiles and nods at the other girl’s flattery.

“Thank you,” she hums, but Margaery continues speaking.

“I’d like to see you leave this place, even if it seems impossible to you. You aren’t happy here. Not as happy as you would be in Highgarden.”

There it is again, an ache that is impossible to extinguish. Her minds snaps to the flowers that surrounds her and she imagines them amplified, covering every inch of the earth. She imagines puppies and lemon cakes and Willas’ sweet smile. If it’s anywhere near as sweet as Margaery’s , she might have asked him to never stop wearing it.

Sansa Tyrell. She nearly cries just like that.

“I am married to my dear Tyrion,” she hums like the lines of a song she’s heard a million times. “It is my duty to stay here by his side.”

She eyes the crashing waves that rock against the stony shores far beyond the flowers and she has a desire to jump in and swim however far to Highgarden. She’s never heard a bad thing about the place. Heaven on earth, she imagines. If it can bring up people so beautiful as Loras and Margaery, she thinks maybe she could be beautiful there, too.

“I know, dear,” Margaery murmurs. Sansa turns to see the smile that flares like star has faded out, replaced by a somber frown. She hasn’t seen Margaery wear it often. Only at the wedding, and only briefly. “But we are girls and we can have our dreams, can’t we?”

Sansa once had dreams. She dreamed of a golden prince that now makes her nearly vomit upon sight. She imagined an equally golden queen, more beautiful and knowing than even her own Stark mother. A mother that wouldn’t sweep her aside when better options came along. She imagined walking down the aisle with her arm resting upon her dear father’s and she imagined Robb and Bran and even Arya, hopefully dressed in fine clothes with her hair brushed… she imagined them beaming up at her as she became the princess of Westeros.

“Dreams are for fools,” Sansa snaps with unexpected hostility. She raises a hand to her mouth and tries to find the words for an apology, but Margaery merely laughs.

“I’m not sure,” she sings. “I suppose my road has been easier than yours, but I have many dreams and prayers and songs. Does that make me a fool? Dreaming?”

“You could never be a fool,” Sansa hurries.

This time, Margaery shakes her head.

“I could,” she laughs, taking Sansa’s hand. They continue walking back to the palace. She squeezes her hand affectionately and hums a pretty song that Sansa has never her. “I am a fool every day, but not for dreaming. For following those dreams. Promise you won’t laugh at me, Sansa, but I think I may be the biggest fool in this city.”

Sansa nods, eyes on the castle.

“If that’s true,” she laughs nervously, “then you must be a very good actress, because there isn’t a man or woman here who would say it.”

Margaery kisses her cheek longer than appropriate between acquaintances, but Sansa smiles. They are friends, after all. It is only a gesture of friendship.

“Then I haven’t messed it all up yet, have I?”


End file.
